A Wedding In Springtime(56)

“First, it must be night. Always night. Second, there must be a thick layer of mist. Third, you should really be wandering through a moor or a graveyard.”

“Wait, wait, how am I going to get a young lady to go out into a graveyard at night so I can molest her properly?”

“I’m not exactly sure, but it seems to happen all the time in novels.”

“Your advice does not seem particularly sensible. How am I to put it into practice if you don’t tell me how to make the thing come about? What sensible young lady lets herself be lured out into the moors at night? Seems you would only be able to seduce young things without a brain in their heads.”

“I do not believe men are interested in the size of a lady’s intellect. In fact, I am sure men are only concerned with appearance. The novels are quite clear on this point. Alabaster skin is apparently a temptation no dark-hearted villain can resist. Drives them to insane lengths.”

“Now I must be driven insane? Really, Miss Talbot, your version of seduction is sounding less appealing by the minute.”

“And, of course, the villain must come to a horrific and most dreadful end.”

“Say no more!” Grant clanked down his cup for emphasis. “I hereby repent of any thoughts of seduction. Really now, running about in graveyards with brainless chits, going insane, meeting my doom. No, no, it’s all too much. I’d rather play whist with my mother.”

“Then I regret to inform you that you are not a true rogue.”

“I am very sorry to hear it.”

“Here we are,” said the housekeeper, leading in a clean boy, dressed in a skeleton suit and black boots. “I found these things of yours in the attic, Mr. Grant. I assumed you would not mind. The clothes he had on were not worth keeping. I put them in the burn pile.”

Jem, for Grant could now see that it was the scrawny imp they had sent to take a private bath, paraded proudly into the room. He was considerably cleaner, but his orange hair still stuck out in odd angles and he doubted very much he had washed it.

“Look, miss. Socks!” He pulled up a pant leg to show her.

“Yes, of course you must always wear your socks,” agreed Genie.

“Never had any before,” said Jem.

“Oh!” said Genie, touching Grant’s hand with hers. She met his eyes, and he knew at that moment he would never be the same.

Never had socks. The thought stilled Grant. He had lived his entire life in comfort and privilege, his only real difficulties being the avoidance of his marriage-minded sisters and mother. How many different pairs of socks had he owned in his life. Hundreds? Thousands? Had he ever once considered them as he put them on? No, never. Not once. He doubted he would ever look at a pair of socks the same way again.

“I shall see to it you will be provided with socks,” said Grant. “Now, sit here and have a scone. I need to take Miss Talbot back home. Afterward, report to the stables. They may be able to find some work for you. If you mind your manners and make yourself useful, I’ll see about letting you have some trifle for dessert.”

Jem’s eyes grew large. “I never had no trifle. Is it as good as they say?”

Grant leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial tone, “Better!”

Jem sat down to scones and Grant offered Genie his arm, leading her back into the garden. “You have a good way with him,” she said. “It is too bad you have set your mind against matrimony. You would have been a good father.”

“Have you been sent here by my mother and sisters to try to change my mind? Flattery will not serve your cause,” laughed Grant, yet the compliment circled around his heart and nestled in for a comfortable stay.

“Here we are at the garden gate,” said Grant. “Perhaps we can meet by the moonlight to whisper our love through a crack in the garden wall, my Pyramus to your Thisbe.”

Genie laughed. “I thought you had taken a dislike to romantic tragedies.”

“Ah, yes. They did both fall on their sword. I was thinking more of the delightful version told by Nick Bottom.”

“Midsummer Night’s Dream? I am always game for a laugh, much to my shame, as you well know!”

“Yet there is no lady I would rather be with,” said Grant much too truthfully. He leaned a shoulder on the wall that divided their gardens and took her hand in his.

She stepped closer and gazed up at him with deep blue eyes that despite the coolness of the color danced with fire. Her lips, full and pink, beckoned him. He leaned down to indulge in a kiss but realized what he was doing and pulled back with a jerk.